Life Transitions
In the recent transition of moving our folks closer to us (my sister, Aimee and I), I heard my oldest daughter say some things that sounded just like me when my grandparents moved from the “home place” that I had known as a little girl.
Initially, she wasn’t thrilled about them leaving what she thought would be their forever home. But then she came to understand what we all have known for a while—it’s for the best. They need to be closer to us, and we need to be closer to them.
Every day we learn more and more that life is full of transitions.
Sometimes it feels like you just get used to one and then another one shows up on the horizon. Often faster than we would wish for—even knowing that changes are coming doesn’t make them easier to swallow. But, you brace yourself, hunker down, lift your hands in surrender to God, and go with the flow.
Can all that be done at one time? Yes.
Is it always easy? Not on your life.
Sometimes--it's the most excruciating thing imaginable--but we either go in surrender to God--even in the tough times--or, we suffer painfully, while still having to surrender to a transition. And without God, there is no peace. But WITH God, even the hard times, we can find a place of peace.
Recently, I have been remembering simpler times-especially with the tensions that we all feel every time we have to go out of the house-for any place public.
Masks!
Who would have thought that we would be reminding our kids to keep their mask on when they were with others. (Rather than the customary, “don’t pick your nose”.)
I find myself often whispering the last prayer of the Bible, “even so Lord, come quickly”.
This feels like too much to comprehend-and masks often make me feel panicky and anxious. For many, this hasn’t been an easy transition at all.
Today—I would love to show you my grandparents’ home. To get our minds off of the current—and settle you into a calm place with me.
There was absolutely nothing panicky or anxious about this place. They have long been in heaven—and their home has long been gone as it was destroyed in a fire many years ago, long after they had sold it and moved. However, it was the house that as a kid, I thought they would and should live there forever because to me—it was home. It held my memories—my favorite ones.
I soon learned it was their traditions that were the biggest part of my memories and they carried those same traditions to the next home my Paw-Paw built.
Come on—let’s go up on the porch and sit in the swing.
I believe all homes should have a front porch. One where you could sit and rock in the straight back rockers, or swing in the handmade swing, being lulled to sleep by the sound of the chains creaking with every back and forth movement. You could sit and drink a cup of coffee while the rain pelted the tin roof and poured off in a steady stream into the flower beds, and making big mud puddles in the orange clay dirt road out front.
While we sit here, let me tell you just a few things of what I can remember about the house:
It was an old wood frame house with some type of shingle siding and a metal roof that made the absolute perfect music on a rainy night. The door steps were high; and large hydrangea bushes flanked the sides of the steps bursting with shades of blue and the palest lavender every summer.
Off to one side were pecan trees and I seem to remember maybe a cedar tree out front. I remember there were some bridal wreath bushes out front to the left of the front porch and a beautiful pink crepe myrtle tree near the mailbox.
There was a brick sidewalk that led one to the edge of the front yard and we often played “Mother May I?”, “Simon Says”, or “One -Two-Three-Red-light!”—along with "Hopscotch", and drawing our house plans in the dirt with a big stick, making big rooms; and my sister and I would always draw ours to be near each other and we would play for hours outside.
Mamo saved us the little tin pie pans and we would use them as our cook pans along with an old rusty coffee can we found somewhere —probably under the shed. It might have been what she put eggs in when she gathered them.
We would collect grass clippings when Paw-Paw cut the grass and put them in the pot (coffee can) and add some water from the faucet by the side of the house and get a smaller stick to use as a spoon and stir those clippings and call it collards or turnips. I don't think that I knew the difference back then. As kids, we didn’t really like to eat many of the things I absolutely love today, but we sure liked to pretend to cook them.
We had great imaginations. We could dream up anything and even make a doll out of a squash or a small watermelon. I remember once, when we rode the wagon behind the tractor as Paw-Paw was pulling corn, Mamo handed us an ear of corn each and told us we could pretend it was our baby doll. The silks on the ear of corn were its hair. She would sometimes even take a nail and carve a little face on a small watermelon and let us pretend that it was a doll. We may have taken a toy or two to Mamo and Paw-Paw’s but I really never remember playing with anything we brought. It was far more fun to pretend with what she created for us.
The house was a shotgun style house. From the front door, you walked right into the living room and then right into the kitchen and out the back door onto the back porch where she washed their clothes in the wringer washer and hung them on the clothes line just off the porch in the side yard between the house and the fence.
There was a short narrow hall that led to the front bedroom which was Mamo and Paw-Paw’s. The bathroom was next and it was tiny; by today’s standards, it would be considered linen closet size. But it had a tub, sink and commode, complete with a jar of fresh honeysuckles or maybe gardenias perched on the tank. Nature’s air freshener.
Next to the bathroom was a tiny bedroom with an iron twin bed, sewing machine at the window, and a chest of drawers. The twin bed is where my sister, Wanda and I slept when we stayed. We were very small, so it was not a problem for us to fit on the little bed. The next room was the guest room. It had two doors. One that opened from the hall and the other one that opened to the kitchen beside the back door. If you happened to sleep in this room, you smelled the bacon frying first thing every morning. You heard the sweet sounds of Mamo singing and her feet as they moved about on the cool linoleum tile floors.
All of the six rooms of this house were plain and simple—but clean as could be. The routines of the precious couple who lived in that house were what made all of this so special. Prayers are what made these memories so amazing.
Every morning after the breakfast was cooked—often Wanda and I would wake to the sound of chairs scraping the floor as they were scooted back far enough from the table to kneel down, and the smell of bacon and biscuits. The scraping noise signified that praying was about to begin. We often stayed put until they were over when we were super small—but as we grew older—we wanted to be in on all the activities. They didn’t just bow their heads. They pushed their chairs back and knelt down to pray before breakfast was eaten. The table was perfectly set, not with fine china, but with well used plates, some having the design almost worn off by so many years of use—but that didn’t matter. The food was on the table—but even if it grew cold—praying still came first. Being a guest in the home never altered the routine. It was more than a routine—it was a commitment.
After praying for everyone—everywhere and everything imaginable, they would rise from their knees, scoot the chairs close to the table and commence to serving each other and us the most incredible breakfast. The Dillard House or Cracker Barrel couldn’t compare to the soft tender homemade biscuits and hand churned butter that we enjoyed at Mamo’s table.
There are so many things, memories and joys that I could share—things I learned in that home by those two, but the most important thing we learned as girls growing up—was the importance of prayer and a relationship with God.
At lunch, prayer of thanksgiving was offered up for the meal, this time they remained seated. But after supper, after the dishes were dried and put away, they both retired to the living room to read. They had no TV and even though we had one at home, we never missed it, nor begged to be entertained. They read their Sunday School lessons, their Bibles, sometimes a Reader's Digest or The Progressive Farmer magazine.
Mamo often read the funny jokes from the Reader's Digest aloud to us. Then, after about an hour of reading, one of them would announce it was time for bed and they would each go to their knees wherever they were sitting. Wanda and I would sidle up to Mamo and with one of us on each side, she would pray. Paw-Paw on his knees at his chair would do the same.
They both prayed aloud and at the same time, as is our custom. God never got confused as to who said what. She prayed lengthy prayers—earnest prayers—for the family, the neighbors, the community, the church and most of all, for the unsaved. How I wish I had been smart enough to write some down. But, I could barely write then and I had no clue about the value of what I was hearing.
When I look around at what is going on in this world today—even in some of the churches—my heart aches for what it COULD be. For what we COULD have—if we just would…. (2 Chronicles 7:13-16)
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| Vacation 2019, Ellijay, Georgia |
As this world transitions to what is happening right now, completely unknown to us, I wish we could grab hold of some bygone traditions and stake a claim to begin again.
To begin each day with prayer and end it with the same. But of thanksgiving for what He has brought us through. He IS bringing us through. And, He IS coming soon. But trust me—it will be for those looking and who are ready.
And again, I continue to ask in my prayer…even so LORD, come quickly.
The thing we need to be doing today is telling others about Jesus. Showing others Jesus by our daily examples—testify of what HE has done for you in the past—and you can just bet, HE will be there in the future—just as reliable and faithful.
I have to ask myself, “Am I as reliable and faithful to Him?” Can He depend on me to get the Word out? Can He trust me to keep going when things get so tough I can hardly bear it? I hope so. That's my intention anyway.
Keep trusting--keep going, even when the world around us stalls out in a panic over the circumstances.
I hope you enjoyed your visit and rest on the porch today—I have wished so many times that I could sit once again on that porch and listen to my Mamo—but I will hear her again in Heaven as she will tell me how she made it home….That is the transition I am longing for!
© Angie Knight 2020. All rights reserved. Unabridged version.
Abridged version printed printed with permission in September 2020 issue of StreetTalk Magazine.
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